


Discovery

by WintersLonging (LivingSilver)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recovering!Bucky, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/WintersLonging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky remembers the action of having sex, glimpses of nameless women from the 40s with red lips and curled hair. But he doesn't recall the sensation, the euphoria of it, not after the frozen hell of cryofreeze and the cruel shock of Hydra's electric torture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much better in my head?? Will probably add a few more chapters as Bucky continues to rediscover sex. Also, sorry I got lazy so alot of the dialogue doesn't have any descriptive adjectives.There's also alot of "Yeah" and nodding.

Bucky’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He’s unusually tense you note with some concern. He’s leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs, turning his face away but you still catch a glimpse of the worry etched into his furrowed brow.

Bucky had moved into the tower at least six months ago, and you had developed a steady friendship since then. You were able to tell when he was confused about something or didn’t understand references being made even if he didn’t ask for help, you would lean over and offer a quiet explanation so he would feel included. You began to look forward to the little half smiles he would crack once you explained the reference and its context. Eventually, you began having television and movie nights together about once a week, just the two of you in Bucky’s room, so Bucky could catch up on his pop culture history.

Tonight was one of those nights, but Bucky had been fidgety the whole movie. Usually he just leans back into the couch, legs spread wide, arm thrown over the arm rest. But tonight, he would cross his legs occasionally. Then uncross them. Then take his arm off the arm rest, folding his hands in lap. Before throwing his arm back over the rest.

“What’s up, Bucky?” You ask knowing that he clearly has something on his mind.

Bucky glances over with stormy blue eyes.

“It’s nothing.” He deflects quietly.

You scoot over from your end of the couch, so you can be next to him.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” You remind him gently.

“Yeah.”  He sounds tired. Defeated.

“It’s just,” Bucky continues hesitantly “I don’t know who else to turn to, I trust you,” blue eyes meeting yours when he says this before looking away again, “but I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Your heart flutters nervously. Somewhere along the way, you’d started imagining what it would be like if you and Bucky were more than friends. Of course, he was gorgeous. How many times had you imagined pressing your lips to his, sliding your hands over his body. But he was so much more than that. So brave. So selfless.

“It’s okay, Bucky. I’m here for you, no matter what,” you assure him, dying to know what could be eating away at him.

Bucky sighs heavily.

“I remember a lot of things,” he explains, chewing his lip nervously. “But there are some things I still don't remember…not fully at least."

Bucky remembers the action of having sex, glimpses of nameless women from the 40s with red lips and curled hair. But he doesn't recall the sensation, the euphoria of it, not after the frozen hell of cryofreeze and the cruel shock of Hydra's electric torture.

It didn't really matter the two years he spent in Romania. Constant fear of being recognized, dealing with the trauma on his own, trying to scrape by had suppressed any trace of desire or curiosity.

But since he had moved into the tower, something within him had recognized a sense of domesticity which his body began to respond to. He started waking up hard. Want began to make its home under his skin, a constant latent burn sitting just beneath the surface until its eating at him constantly. He wants to know, wants to remember what it feels like to be wrapped up in someone else. His body has known nothing but pain for so long, its desperate for a change. He tries getting off with his hand but its always a hollow, empty kind of pleasure. Modern pornography doesn't do anything for him. The obscene way the women are devalued and used. Reminds him of Hydra in a way.

“I don't remember what it's like to…be with someone else."

Bucky takes in your slightly puzzled expression. God, he doesn't want to do this, he feels like some kind of awkward teenage virgin.

"To have sex." He clarifies somewhat bashfully.

You stay silent, allowing him to continue at his own pace.

"And sometimes I want…I want to, to be with someone…to feel… But I don’t even deserve to feel that way because of all the pain I’ve caused. And I don’t even know how…how to make anyone feel good. Because all I know how to do is hurt.”Bucky’s voice is tightly laced with guilt and remorse.

He looks down at his flesh hand. The same hand that choked the life out of Tony's mother, and wonders how anyone could be anything other than repulsed by his  touch.

Your heart breaks at Bucky’s words. At his insurmountable feeling of guilt, his lack of self worth. You immediately cover his hand with yours.

“Bucky, look at me,” You plead. He hesitates, but he does. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Sex, desire, is normal for a lot of people. And you deserve to be happy, Bucky. You’re a good person. All the pain, all the damage, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t _you_. Come here,” you say before wrapping your arms around him, holding him close, cradling his head against your chest, stroking his hair. Bucky doesn't return the embrace, he just relaxes against you and the small measure of comfort you're offering.

 _You deserve everything. You deserve the world. The moon. The stars. All of it._ You think silently, not wanting to reveal the depth of your feelings for him.

"I could help you out, if you want, you and me, we could-"

"No," Bucky cuts you off, quickly catching onto your trail of thought. "I mean, I couldn't let you do that, sleep with me just because. I respect you."

"Its not like you're forcing me Bucky."

"I would be lying if I said I haven't thought about it," you add faintly.

"Really?" Bucky asks in a small voice, after a few moments that seem to stretch on forever while you anxiously wonder if you've ruined everything, if he even thinks of you the same way.

"Yeah."

"And we would still be friends?"

You cringe inwardly knowing this is going to get messy for you if this is how he wants it to be. Trying to keep sex and friendship separate especially when you were already secretly hoping for more.

"If that's what you want," you concede neutrally.

"That's what I want," Bucky says decisively.

"Don't tell anyone," he adds quietly, desperation thick in his voice. "Please." Blue eyes swirling up at you, a tide of vulnerability and trust.

"Of course. This will just be between you and me. I promise." You reassure him, and you mean it. You would defend any secret Bucky asked you to keep with your life if it came to that.

He pulls away.

"I'm tired. I should be getting to bed." Bucky says, ending the conversation for now.

You nod sympathetically, getting up to let yourself out. Your hand stills on the doorknob.

"Good night, Bucky. Remember, anything at all. I'm here."

And then you slip out silently, angry at the world on Bucky's behalf.

 

Two days later, Bucky texts to ask if you're free tonight. You are. He doesn't offer any explanation. But here you are, outside his door.Bucky lets you in and he has that nervous gleam in his eye again. He sits on the edge of his bed and you take your place beside him.

 "You know about the other night, what you suggested, is that still on the table?" Bucky asks carefully.

You swallow thickly.

"Yeah."

Bucky hesitates, knowing what he's about to say could end up ruining your friendship in the long run. He may not know much about relationships in this century but even he knows sex between close friends is going to end up complicated. But he doesn't know what else to do. He's thought about seeking out prostitutes but that idea was dismissed as quickly as it came. How long would be it before one of them leaked to the press that her newest client was the Winter Solider? And he's not sure they would understand, what he needs. But he looks over at you, looking at him so sweetly, so expectantly. Always there for him since the beginning. Filling him in on pop culture references, taking his side in his numerous on going prank wars with Sam, somehow managing to order just a regular coffee for him his first time at Starbucks while he looked on bewildered at the menu.And then, there's the latent attraction to you he's tried to suppress. He won't deny that half time when he wakes up with his cock straining against the cotton of his boxers and slips his hand down to take care of it, his thoughts wander to you.

"I think, it’s a good idea."

Your heart stills, while your mind races at the thought of being faced with the reality of your suggestion, the soon to be reality of Bucky's body and yours blissfully entwined together. Some amount of reason finds its way into your overwhelmed mind, and you realize maybe he won't want to jump back into everything right away.

"Okay…where do you want to start?"

"Can I touch you?"

Bucky asks the question so innocently, so hesitantly, but nevertheless your entire body thrums at the thought.You take his right hand in yours.

 "Touch me however you want okay? And if I don't like something I'll let you  know."

Bucky nods in agreement while his blue eyes are suddenly roaming your body.Slowly, Bucky's hand travels up the inside of your arm and your skin tingles beneath the touch. His hand is warm and his fingers are lightly calloused.  He makes it all the way up your arm, then caresses your neck with the back of his hand, drawing away suddenly when your eyes fall closed.

"No, it feels good."

You tilt your head up, exposing more of your neck, and Bucky repeats the gesture. Then traces his thumb along your jawline and up, along your bottom lip, causing your breath to hitch. He stares at your lips for a few moments and you think maybe he'll kiss you, but he doesn't, just continues his exploration instead.He trails his hand down the side of your body, to the hem of your shirt, blue eyes silently asking permission. You nod.He lifts the garment gently over your head, careful to keep his cybernetic arm away from your skin, and once it's been removed the left arm returns back to his side as he drinks in your exposed skin. Eyes lingering hungrily at the tops of your breasts.

Bucky presses you gently back onto the bed, and you move so you're lying in the middle of the bed. He lays down beside you on his side, propping himself up with his cybernetic arm. You feel like an insecure high school girl all over again. Not knowing what to expect, or where this is going, or what any of it means. Bucky traces his fingers along one collar bone, then the other. Every touch is carefully measured and feather light, like he's afraid you'll break. He studies you intently, eyes constant flicking up to your face to gauge your reaction. By this point, your panties are already soaked and you're struggling not to squirm beneath his curious touch.

When he reaches the swell of your breasts, his thumb runs along the edge of your bra. Again, stopping abruptly when you sigh.

"Feels good, Bucky," your voice surprisingly even if not a little breathy.

"You want me to keep going?"

"Yeah."

Your eyes lock, both knowing that you're crossing a line from friendship into something else but it doesn't need to be discussed right now. All that matters is you're crossing it together, wading into a grey area of uncertainty with implicit trust.

You arch your back, giving Bucky room to reach behind you and pop the clasp of your bra. You slide the straps all the way down your arms, exposing your breasts.

Bucky makes a noise somewhere in the back of his throat, and tentatively cups one breast, relishing its weight and warmth against the palm of his hand. He swipes his thumb across your nipple, repeating the action when you moan. He pinches, rolls, swirls all before moving on to tease the other.

"Bucky," you plead. You want to be patient, let him take his time, but you're hot all over and you ache to be touched where you need it most.

"I need more, please," you explain raggedly.

Bucky's pupils widen visibly before he nods his assent. You pop the button on your jeans and start sliding them down your hips. Bucky pulls them the rest of the way off when they reach your thighs.

His hand hovers above your damp panties before he touches you apprehensively. Applying just a fraction more pressure when you cant your hips against his hand. He rubs his fingers over you through the fabric, up and down, down and up, light then firm then light. The finally, finally Bucky dips his hand beneath the waistband.

Bucky inhales sharply when he feels how wet you are. And the thought, knowing that this is because of him, that you're this wet from his touch, has him groaning. Fingers slipping against your slicked entrance, he leans down, nuzzling his face against into the crook of your neck, and whispers your name like it’s the most sacred thing to pass his lips.

You could cry at his carefulness when he only slides one finger into you, stroking your inner walls experimentally. When he's satisfied with his thorough exploration, he adds a second finger and you eagerly clench around it. He pumps them slowly into your body, setting a lazy rhythm. You rock gently against his hand, trying to guide him, until his fingers brush against your g spot, causing you to cry out. He pauses. Then swipes over that spot again, purposefully, eager to please you.

Bucky presses his thumb experimentally against your clit, bits and pieces of what he used to do coming back to him. Rubbing unhurried circles in time with the languid slide of his fingers. Every muscle in your body is wound impossibly tight at this torturous build of pleasure.

Sensing you're close from the way you're rolling harder into his hand, Bucky quickens the tempo of his thumb against your clit. The familiar euphoria of your senses somehow simultaneously numbing while sparking up with ecstasy starts burning up the base of your spine, until it breaks somewhere along the way and you still against Bucky's hand as your orgasm ripples through you like a force of nature, so strong it knocks the air out of you.

You come back down to the sound of Bucky's own harsh breathing, withdrawing his hand after petting you through every little aftershock. He collapses on to his back next you. You look over, noticing the impressive bulge at the front of his sweatpants. You sit up, tracing your hand over Bucky's soft t-shirt, but you can still feel every muscle underneath. You want to take the time to do a slow exploration of his body, much like he did to you, but you decide that can wait for some other time. When you get to the band of his sweats, you go to palm his erection through the fabric, but Bucky reaches out lightning fast, grabbing your wrist.

"No," he says firmly, mouth set in a hard line.

"No?"  You repeat, somewhat confused.

"No." And this time he glances away, off to the side.

Then it clicks for you.

"No, because you don't feel like you deserve it? Really Bucky?" You can’t help the annoyance that creeps into your voice.

Bucky sighs, confirming your suspicion.

"You trust me?"

"Yeah." Shame tinging the edges of his voice.

"Well then you should believe me when I say that you deserve it, you deserve to feel good, you deserve to be happy, you deserve it all Bucky. You shouldn't be punishing yourself and  carrying around all this guilt for things that you had no control over. Its part of your life, so you have to live with it. But don't let it twist your perspective of the person you are now."

Bucky chews his lip nervously. Your hand is resting neutrally on his thigh now.

"I guess you're right," he mumbles reluctantly.

"So, I can continue?"

He nods.

"If want me to stop, I'll stop, okay?"

Bucky doesn't answer, too focused on watching as you hook your fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats. He lifts his hips, so you can slide them down. You notice his breathing is already uneven with anticipation. When you palm him through his boxers, he instinctively curves his hips up against your touch and a needy little noise falls past his lips. You knead your fingers up along the length of his cock and back down again. Deciding he isn't going to last long by the way his fists are clenched at his sides and the fact no one has touched him like this in 70 years, you pull his cock out of his boxers.

Its thick in your hand as you pull it out and once its free you can't help but admire it.  Just a little wider than it is long with a nice, full tip, pre come beading heavily at the slit. You swipe your thumb lightly against the clear fluid, spreading it around the head and down the shaft. Bucky practically keens in response. You start stroking him steadily, corkscrewing your hand up and down the length. Bucky comes suddenly maybe a minute later, shooting long white ropes over your hand and up his stomach, groaning deeply.

Bucky could almost cry at how good it feels. He feels like he's flying. Every possible thought wiped out of his mind in pleasure rather than pain. So much better than his own hand, he didn't know his body could even feel this way anymore.

"Fuck, 'm sorry," he apologizes when he comes to, seeing the mess he's made of your hand.

You simply look him in the eye while you start licking your hand clean, savoring Bucky's wide eyed expression. Slotting your body casually against his when you're done.

Bucky glances down at his ruined shirt, then sits up, fluidly removing it and tossing it to the floor.

"Stay the night?" He asks, and it comes out a little more hopeful than he meant.

"Yeah."  You answer, pulling  him back down beside you.

 

 


	2. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Ch.2, sorry it took awhile! Hopefully worth the wait.
> 
> Disclaimer: Text that is both italicized and in quotes does not belong to me. They are lines taken from A Decade by Amy Lowell.

Bucky's gone when you wake up.

You don't hear the shower running. You don't see a note anywhere. Accepting that he just didn't want to be here when you woke up for whatever reason, you don't really want to start analyzing why, because the self-blame would never stop. You let yourself out, trying to smother the ember of disappointment within you. 

 

After a shower and fresh clothes, you make your way down to the kitchen. Bucky's pouring a glass of orange juice, hair sticking to his forehead from his morning run. Morning run. Right. You somehow completely forgotten about his habitual morning run. Maybe you should've stayed in his room? Maybe he just wasn't expecting you to wake up before he was finished? But he would've left a note if he wanted you to stay right?

 

Sam asks if he can have the oj after him. Bucky just finishes off the small amount left in the carton and throws it out.

 

"What orange juice?" Bucky asks nonchalantly.

 

Sam notices you lingering around the entrance to the kitchen.

 

"Did you see that? Did you just see that?!"  He exclaims in disbelief.

 

"See what?" You say, playing along with Bucky like you always do.

 

"He just poured out the rest of the orange juice after I asked for it!"

 

"There just wasn't any orange juice left, Sam" you shrug.

 

Sam heaves a dramatic sigh.

 

"I cannot deal with you. With either you of you," pointing his finger back and forth between you and Bucky, before walking away muttering under his breath something about "-deserve each other" and "-get my own juice".

 

"Good run?"

 

You quickly open with a superficial conversation to avoid an awkward silence.

 

"Yeah, it was a nice morning," Bucky replies while thinking it was probably the worst run he's ever gone for.  Dragging himself out of bed next to your peaceful form, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, was hell but he had to do it. It was for the best.

 

Bucky quickly quaffs the rest of his orange juice and rinses the glass out in the sink.

 

"I'm gonna go shower," he says, finding an excuse to get out of the kitchen.

 

"Yeah, see you later".

 

But he's already gone. You make pancakes and eat them alone.

 

A few days pass, everything is mostly normal. Both of you pretending like nothing happened and in this mutual state of false pretense, you almost actually believe nothing did. It was all an elaborate dream. Almost. Until you're here on Bucky's couch for your weekly movie night.

 

Usually you both curl up on your respective ends of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you. But somehow there was no popcorn tonight. The last bag had mysteriously vanished from the kitchen cabinet in what you guessed to be Sam's orange juice revenge. So Bucky decided to sit beside you in the absence of the popcorn bowl, which makes you suddenly hyper aware of his presence. The unexpected heat next to you, the bulk of his form, thighs stretched out invitingly. The memory of his touch ghosting over your skin; a phantom sensation.

 

You pick movies by drawing out of a jar filled with classic movie titles.  Tonight's draw was The Breakfast Club. Bucky watches with genuine interest like he always does. It’s one of your favorite things about him. He doesn't talk, unless it’s to ask a question about the movie, and he doesn't spend it scrolling through his phone.

 

At the end, the high school couples exchange kisses, and even though they're really nothing more than an innocuous press of mouths, it makes Bucky's lips tingle with want.

 

The screen fades from Bender's fist pump, bringing the two of you back to the present, both noticing the sudden closeness of your bodies as you both relaxed during the movie.

 

Bucky's glance catches your lips before flicking back up, longing to kiss you but all too aware that kissing is somehow much more intimate than just sex, and you're still supposed to be just friends. That doesn't stop him from leaning in, ever so slightly.

 

You immediately pick up on his body language, entire body tensing as you weigh your options. Does he want to kiss you because he likes you? Or is it just because of the "arrangement" you have? A combination of selfishness and stubbornness wins over. Selfish because kissing Bucky has been lingering at the back of your mind ever since you met. Stubborn because you manage to convince yourself that you can keep your feelings out of this. You’ve had meaningless one night stands before. _Except none of them were Bucky. And you weren’t half in love with them to begin with._

 

You lean in the rest of the way, pausing momentarily before your lips meet, giving Bucky the chance to take over, but he merely waits, anxious and unsure of himself, trusting you.

 

An overwhelming amount of pressure hits you as you realize this is in a way his first kiss. His first kiss since 1945. His first kiss after being the Winter Soldier. His first kiss after being unmade and remade, and it's you. You're the first. The thought makes your chest tighten, but you push away the sentiment. It doesn't matter.

 

Gingerly, you brush your mouth against his, before slotting your lips together. Bucky's lips are surprisingly soft. He pliantly returns the action, and you resist the urge run your tongue along his bottom lip. Instead you break away, just enough to separate your mouths, softly sharing air with Bucky as you both gaze at each other through lowered lashes. Bucky's eyes are like two blue stars, alight with wonder.

 

You kiss him again, one hand moving to tuck his hair behind his ear before trailing down to rest on the side of his neck. Pulse quickening beneath your palm. Gently, you guide your lips against his, teaching him, letting his muscle memory remember, as you exchange a series of broken kisses.

 

Steadily, the exchange becomes more heated, lips pressing more firmly together, lingering longer against each other. You slide over onto Bucky’s lap, and he's already hard in his pants, length pressing deliciously against your wet core. Bucky eagerly accepts you, circling his right arm around your waist, while the mechanical left stays at his side.

 

Deciding its time and unable to hold back any longer, you slide your tongue along Bucky's supple bottom lip like a cat tasting cream.

 

_“When you came you were like red wine and honey_

_And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness._ ”

 

Bucky mewls softly at the sensation. It triggers something within him, muscle memory returning full force as he opens up for you, stroking his tongue needily against yours.You reach down, tentatively holding his left hand in yours, hoping he's too distracted to care. He isn’t. He pulls away immediately, leaving the two of you panting for air.

 

"What are you doing?" Bucky asks tightly.

 

"Holding your hand," you reply smartly.

 

"It's not _my_ hand," he states flatly.

 

"Fair enough…but it's still part of you, it's something you should be comfortable with," you reason.

 

Bucky doesn't respond, just tightens the muscles of his jaw.

 

"Look, I'm sorry," you say releasing the metallic hand. "I should've asked first".

 

Bucky's not even mad. Just filled with self-loathing. He hates this metallic thing attached to him. When he looks at it, all he sees is the "fist of Hydra"; it disgusts him. And it's certainly not worthy of touching something, _someone_ , as good as you, but you had reached for it nonetheless. The sentiment has him seeking your lips once again, and there's nothing careful or tender anymore, it’s a raw exchange of passion.

 

The next time you break the kiss is to peel off his shirt, anxious to explore his body in a way you didn't get to last time. Hands apprehensively seeking out the lines and planes of his well-muscled torso while you move down to lave kisses along his neck, stubble tickling your lips, nipping along his collar bone--only on the right side, you stay away from the left, only because Bucky isn't ready for that yet. For you to map out the intricate network of scar tissue with your tongue, but one day the edges of your map will be filled in.

 

 You lean back in his lap to admire the full expanse of his body, running a single finger down the cleft that starts between his pecs and travels all the way down between his abs. Grinding down against his lap because he just looks so damn good, _feels_ so damn good, under you. Bottom lip trapped between his teeth, eyes a deep blue ocean of desire. Throwing his head back against the couch when grind against him again.

 

"Don't, please-", he begs breathily. "Feels too good."

 

And intoxicating thrill runs through you at the thought of Bucky getting off through layers of denim, just from the grind of your hips. You decide to go easy on him. You'll give him something better instead.

 

You move from his lap to the floor, settling on your knees between the wide v of his thighs. Leaning forward to plant open mouthed kisses along the definition of his lower abs, savoring the way the muscles tense and flex beneath your lips. You look up, making eye contact as you place one last kiss right above the button on his jeans.

 

"You don't have to," Bucky pants quietly.

 

"Bucky, I want to." Desire so heavy in your voice, you barely recognize it as your own.

 

Bucky bites his lip and gives a small nod in assent. You drag the zipper down, then the jeans, pulling them down his long, toned legs. Bucky's cock is straining against his boxers. You lick a wet stripe along its outline. Bucky makes a noise that is absolutely wrecked, you glance up to make sure he's still alive-that he hasn't died and gone to heaven- because god you want to hear him make that noise again. And again. And again.

 

You tug his boxers down to join his jeans in careless pile on the floor, freeing his swollen length. You don’t waste any time in swirling your tongue around the thick head, catching pearls of clear fluid as you do. Moaning at the weight and taste of him-clean like pine needles?Cedar? You suck him into your mouth to familiarize yourself with it. Above you, Bucky gasps and moans his approval, threading encouraging fingers through your hair.

 

Bucky's length is considerable, and you steadily work more and more of his cock past your lips each time you swallow him down before returning to tease the tip. When you brush your fingers against his pouch, Bucky's fingers tug at your hair. Instead of pulling off, you start working your way down his length again.

 

"Fuck," Bucky curses desperately.

 

You manage to work him all the way down this time, and he spills as soon as he hits the back of your throat, spasming against your tongue and you struggle to swallow all of it.

 

Eventually you let him go with a soft pop, but not before circling your tongue one last time around the oversensitive head, unable to resist, relishing in the ruined noise Bucky makes.

 

You slide gracefully back up his body, but Bucky displaces you, deftly setting you beside him as if you were nothing more than a feather.

 

Bucky starts stripping off your jeans; he doesn't bother undressing your upper half--too preoccupied with thoughts of burying his face in your pussy. Once your jeans are off, he moves lithely off the couch and onto the floor, settling between your legs. 

 

"Good?" His voice pitched low.

 

You can't even begin to explain just how _good_ this is. Breath catching at the sight of Bucky's broad shoulders spreading your legs wide, fucking asking for permission from in between your thighs. So all you respond with is "Good."

 

With that, you lift your hips as he starts dragging your panties down, almost reverently over your hips, not stopping until they hit the floor.He stares at your wet pussy with interest, something akin to awe spreading across his features.

 

Until this point Bucky has approached everything with a certain amount of caution. But there's nothing cautious about the thick stripe he licks over your pussy with the flat of his tongue. Hooking his arms under your thighs so he can keep you spread open, tongue delving hotly between your folds. Bucky hums as your lush taste fills his mouth. So sweet and cloying, he never wants to taste anything else again. He laps up as much of it as he can get, tongue diving into your entrance, trying to lick your inner walls clean.

 

Meanwhile you're a gasping, whimpering mess. Bucky's hair running through your fingers like dark water as you card a hand through it encouragingly. You can't help but grind against his face when his tongue strokes over that little, rough spot along the top of your walls. He avoids it purposefully next time, not ready for you to finish, not done tasting you yet. Bucky withdraws his tongue and moves his lips up to encircle your glistening bundle of nerves. Sucking tenderly, while his tongue flicks against it rhythmically, causing you to cry his name.

 

 

You try to close your thighs in an effort to get more pressure but Bucky's arms are a vice, keeping you open, he only sucks harder. Just when you get close he moves away, returning his tongue to lap against your entrance.  The fingers of his right hand   graze against your clit while his tongue brushes against that spot inside you, causing your walls to tremble around his tongue. You make the mistake of looking down, Bucky's lashes long and dark against his cheeks, eyebrows knit together in complete bliss as he devours you. The sight finishes you off, coming on Bucky's tongue in a wet rush. His fingers continue working over your clit, dragging your orgasm out for as long as possible while he licks up everything you have to offer. 

 

He doesn't stop until you beg.

 

"Bucky, please-Bucky," you keen highly, pulling on his hair.

 

Bucky finally pulls away with a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Looking down, you catch sight of Bucky’s cock—hard and leaking again. Bucky notices your interested gaze and looks away shyly.

 

"It's the serum. You don't have to… take care of me again. I'll just go-" Bucky rises, turning toward the bathroom. _Take care of it myself_ , is what he was going to say.

 

"-get a shower?" You finish for him slyly, because you're not going to let him get away with his self-imposed retreat in shameful disgrace. "That's a great idea. I could use a shower too." You say casually, getting up from the couch and dragging him by the hand to the bathroom.

 

You quickly shed your shirt and bra, while Bucky starts the water, cock still obscenely hard between his legs. You pull him in under the water with you.  As the warm water sluices over you, you find Bucky's mouth, trying to kiss away his insecurities, hand fisting around his cock as you start leisurely stroking him off.

 

Bucky gasps beautifully and starts fucking shallowly into your hand. Flesh hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck, keeping your lips connected as he ravages your mouth. He comes with a soft cry when you draw his lower lip into your mouth and twist your hand over the head of his cock.

 

Bucky continues to kiss you throughout the rest of the shower, addicted to the feeling of intimacy his body, his _soul_ , has been latently craving for the past two years and the physical high he gets from curling his tongue against yours. The two of you lather soap over each others bodies. Bucky even lets you wash where the skin of his left shoulder connects with metal.

 

When you're clean, you dry each other off, and Bucky hands you one of his t-shirts to sleep in. It smells like home and brushes the tops of your thighs. Bucky just pulls on a clean pair of boxers, before getting into bed with you.

 

Bucky waits for you to fall asleep, head resting contentedly against his chest. Somewhere on the blurred edges of sleep, you imagine a faint press of lips against your forehead.

 

Bucky's gone when you wake up.


	3. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is kind of rushed. I wanted to get it done before I leave to go on a trip and after I write like 2 chapters of something I lose inspiration so...meh.

Some small part of you dies at waking up alone again and you bury it beneath a cool grave of indifference. Quickly shucking out of Bucky's shirt in attempts to sever any feelings of attachment.  You pick your clothes up off the floor, making your walk of shame down the hall in last night's dirty clothes.

Bucky returns from his morning run, frowning slightly at the carelessly discarded shirt he had given you. He had reluctantly dragged himself out of bed for the second time after your night together. He didn't want to be around when you remembered you were waking up next to a monster.

 

The next time, Bucky's touch is firmer, more insistent than has it been previously. 

"Want you," Bucky murmurs against the hollow of your throat, moving assuredly over you, pressing the weight of his hips against yours into the mattress. You sense he wants more this time, wants to go all the way.

The thought triggers a sudden panic within you. You can't do this. You can't know what it's like to have Bucky completely only to wake up alone. It's already killing you, trying to keep up this act, acting like this doesn't mean anything. And you know if you do this, you won't be able to stop yourself from resenting him. Resenting him for the pain he's unknowingly caused you. Your chest clenches at the thought. Resenting him is the farthest thing from what you want.

"I can't-I can't do this, Buck," you say tearing your mouth away from his.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks, brows knitting together in confusion, releasing some of his weight from your body.

"I--have feelings for you." You divulge unexpectedly, pausing to realize what you just said. "I'm sorry. I thought I could this, but I can't anymore. I'm sorry." You explain quickly, moving out from under him, refusing to meet his eyes, and going for the door. Bucky doesn't try to stop you and you don't look back.

Bucky sits dumbfounded on the bed. Feelings for him? His heart swells momentarily before tightening at the realization that you could do so much better. Whatever feelings you have for him--he doesn't deserve them. The gears of his cybernetic arm whirl in response.

 

You're grateful when Steve interrupts your vigorous session with the punching bag the next day to send you on an easy but lengthy recon mission in Europe. Two weeks trailing some rich daddy's girl with an important father, suspected of passing information because she has nothing better to do with her life filled with tiny pure bred dogs and designer clothes. 

You quickly end your gym session to go pack. Unwrapping your hands, you notice distantly that the force of your punches managed to bruise your knuckles black and blue.

The mission is a welcome distraction. The change of scenery and sense of purpose keeps you from thinking about Bucky and the friendship you've ruined with your selfish confession. By the time you get back, you're ready to move on. Distance yourself. You only punch the bag hard enough to bruise your knuckles yellow.

 

There's a knock at your door the first full night you're back. A glance through the peephole reveals Bucky. You walk away. Another knock.

"It's Bucky"… "I know you're there".

You ignore him, hoping he'll go away.

"I just want to talk," … "Please."

The please breaks you.

Drawing the door open, Bucky crosses the threshold hesitantly. Everything he had planned on saying suddenly fleeing his mind.

"Glad you're back," he greets, giving you a fragile smile.

"What did you want to talk about?" You press, somewhat annoyed, just wanting to get to the point.

Bucky rubs his hand across the back of his neck.

"Can we sit?" He motions to the couch.

You both sit uneasily on the couch. Bucky starting to seriously second guess himself given the obvious discontent you’re radiating.

"I've been thinking about, what you said,” Bucky begins solemnly, "And I have…feelings for you too. Since before we started--but I didn't think you could ever feel the same way so…that's why I said I just wanted to be friends, even though--"

"Why did you always leave?" You say cutting him off.

"What?"

"In the mornings, you always left," you explain defensively.

"Oh…I didn't want to be there when you woke up and regretted what happened," he reveals quietly.

You're stunned into silence trying to process everything. Mostly frustrated that this whole situation was the result of something as simple as misread signals. You should have known, but you had underestimated Bucky’s lack of self-esteem.

"So where do we go from here?" You finally ask.

"I want to stay the night…and I want to be here in the morning," Bucky says carefully, eyes searching yours, hand reaching for yours, entwining your fingers together.

The action snaps you out of your reverie. You meet Bucky's expectant gaze with a kiss. Resolutely sealing your mouth over his.

Bucky wastes no time in hefting you up easily, carrying you to the bed as you continue to kiss, tongues and lips sliding yearningly against each other after two weeks of separation. You strip each other efficiently of clothes, not stopping until you’re both bare.

This time when Bucky murmurs his want against your skin, you roll over him, sitting astride his lithe hips. You bury your face into his neck and move down, reverently kissing the scar tissue along the metallic edge of his shoulder. Bucky makes a point of running the cybernetic hand down your spine approvingly before bringing it to rest on the curve of your ass.  You press back against it, savoring the foreign sensation against your skin, cool to the touch but it still thrums faintly with electricity.

Taking the cybernetic hand you slide it down over the front of your hip, and towards your aching center. You lean forward over him, breasts grazing his chest, so you can whisper in his ear.

"I want you to fuck me with those pretty silver fingers, Bucky.”

Bucky groans deeply, metallic fingers flexing against your skin before moving to your pussy.

"Are you wet?" He asks voice low and rough, stroking you slowly. The arm can pick up temperature and surface pressure but texture wasn't something Hydra had bothered with.

"Yeah, Bucky, so wet, so fucking wet for you," you coo into his ear, rolling your hips into his touch.

Bucky pushes two fingers into you, watching intently as the chrome gradually disappears out of sight. He's nearly overwhelmed by the feedback from the pressure sensors as you clench tightly around him and he makes a low, startled kind of sound because it actually feels good, like a warm, pleasant prickling where the arm connects to his spine. Twisting his fingers sharply up into your heat, the sensation only grows, burning hot inside him. You writhe against his hand, addicted to this liquid silver touch inside you so fluid and smooth. Bucky pumps a third finger into you just as soon as you're starting to loosen up, a string of adorations and encouragements falling from your lips. He marvels at your pleasure, cobalt eyes desperately trying to drink in every detail, unable to believe this instrument of death could be the source of your euphoria. But it is. And the realization has his cock leaking. Desperate to please you, Bucky crooks his fingers forward. He can't feel it, but he knows he's hit your spot from the sudden jerk of your hips.

"Yes, Bucky, yeah, so good," you praise breathily.

He repeats the motion but harder, a slick sweep of metal has you coming undone, dripping your release down the cybernetic hand and on to his wrist as you tremble over him.

You kiss Bucky coming down, and when he withdraws his metallic fingers from your center you kiss each one of those finger tips too. Bucky's eyes fluttering shut at the sight, if only you knew exactly all the damage those fingers had wrought. When he reopens his eyes, he imagines your lips are bloodstained from his fingertips and he quickly swipes his tongue over your mouth, kissing away the taint of his past.

Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, you begin your descent. Bucky's face buried in the crook of your neck, flesh hand palming the back of your head as he struggles not to thrust up into your heat. Hot enough to burn all the shadows out his mind as he begins to white out pleasurably.

There is a duet of sighs and moans when he's finally fully seated within you. Bucky throwing his head back when you begin to circle your hips, rocking gently against him, trying to adjust to his girth.

Placing your hands behind you on his stable thighs, you lift and lower yourself in a sweet slide, taking your time to fully appreciate Bucky's length. Bucky's hands grip your waist, keeping you steady as you increase your pace.

Bucky's bottom lip has been bitten bruised and a light sheen of sweat covers his chest. He rolls his hips experimentally beneath you causing you to gasp at the unexpected motion. Your eyes roll back into your head when he moves with you in earnest, walls beginning to twitch around him.

Bucky presses his metallic thumb over your clit, even though he could watch you slide up and down his cock for the rest of his life he thinks, he's been close ever since the head of  his cock brushed your entrance but he doesn't want to come before you. Needs to see you fall apart.

The faint thrum of electricity against your swollen bundle of nerves sends you flying into your releasing, clenching around Bucky's length, harmonizing his name in a praise of breathless cries. Bucky's back curves beautifully off the bed as he arches into his release, open mouthed, chest heaving, flesh hand pushing bruises into your skin. Pure ecstasy flushes through Buck's veins and he wonders how he's managed to survive without this high. It seems to stretch out forever, blacking out every corner of his mind with sensation.

You wait until Bucky's cock stops throbbing within you and his eyes slowly reopen before pulling off of him. Catching sight of his release running down your thigh, he rises before lifting you bridal style despite your weak protests and sets you in the shower, hands rubbing thoroughly over your body. He doesn't let you return the favor until he's satisfied with his work.

Carrying you back to bed, you both nestle between the covers, legs tangling together, your head rests on his chest again, heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

" 'Night doll," he murmurs before touching his lips to your forehead.

 

Bucky is there when you wake up. Bucky is there warm and solid next to you, propped up on his elbow from watching you sleep. Hair disheveled in the loveliest way, morning sky eyes shining down at you.

"You stayed," you smile sleepily up at him.

"Said I would didn't I?" He reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear before tilting his face down to kiss you lazily.

It’s a mild, morning kiss of new beginnings and you wonder how many other mornings to come will begin the same way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that ending was hella more sappy than I wanted it to be. Maybe will rewrite later. Unless you really like it or something. Idk. So sappy. It's killing me.


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